She was so busy with her work now that her face bent quite close to his, her fair curls touched his cheeks, her breath stirred the hair on his temples; the intoxication of the moment carried Tom beyond all power of self-restraint.
He snatched Elsie's two hands and cried out:
"I must speak; I shall die if I don't! I haven't said a word since I came back; I know it's useless; but I love you, Elsie, I do love you."
She struggled faintly for an instant, then allowed him to keep her hands, and looked down into his face through her drooping lashes with an expression that made Tom's head fairly reel.
"Don't be angry with me," he pleaded; "don't drive me away! I'll never open my lips; just let me speak now! You can't think how much I love you, Elsie. I'd cut myself into inch pieces if it would do you any good. I'd die for you."
"I would rather you lived," whispered Elsie.
Tom caught the words; a mad hope sprang up in his honest heart; he knew that it was folly, but he could not subdue it then.
"If you could only learn to love me," he went on, hurriedly; "I'd be a slave to you, Elsie! I am rich now; I could give you everything your heart desired; if you could only care for me; such lots of candies and pretty things."
"You saved my life, Tom," she returned, in that same thrilling whisper which shook the very heart in his bosom.
"Oh, don't bring that up as a claim," he said; "what was I born for except to be useful to you? But I love you so; if you could only make up your mind to endure my ugliness and my awkward ways, and—and——"